


Karma

by CuckMaster3000



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, But only a little, Crying, Deepthroating, Double Anal Penetration, Embarrassment, Force-Feeding, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Karma - Freeform, Milking, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual Tickling, Other, Prostate Milking, Punishment, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shame, Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, he's fucking milked dry, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:29:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29538951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuckMaster3000/pseuds/CuckMaster3000
Summary: Tentacle sex, danny tries kill people outside of trials, kinda gets what he deserves :)I'm a simple person, with simple needs, and all I wanna see is ghostie fucked senseless by tentacles!!
Kudos: 33





	Karma

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Bri'ish, so spellin may be different!  
> Also, I know the entity is spikey, but I made it so it aint here :)
> 
> its rape!!!!!!!

Trials were the only place killers proved to be dangerous, the setting of which they were allowed to hunt, the prison where the survivors survived, and the killers killed. This was a violation of those rules, this law of the land, a silent treaty that demanded their free time was theirs, safe from the constant, devastating cycle of running and dying. Someone, or something, had clearly grown bored of simply slaughtering during the dedicated times, deciding to crawl from whatever depths they may call home to continue their own lusts for murder without the need of sacraficial reasoning.

The first person murdered in cold blood was Jake; granted, he’d quickly bounce back to life, but they all knew how painful it was, the death itself some twisted reminder that it is, in fact, not the end before they spiral hours later into consciousness. Now Meg believed it was her turn, especially considering how she had stupidly decided to leave the safety of their communal house to get some ‘fresh air’. She was dead set on her deduction that, if any killer were to be approaching her, she’d get the same thrum of fear she would usually be the recipient of and would have the knowledge to sneak back home.

But then, the ginger felt her heart drop when she got grabbed from behind a tree. It only took her the space of a few seconds to realise it wasn’t a fellow survivor’s hand on her shoulder when she regarded the black glove connected to a shrouded arm which led to the silent killer only known between the survivors as ‘Ghostface’. The name wasn’t rather creative, but it did the serial killer justice considering the haunting mask he wore; the same mask Meg was looking up at as cogs started to twist in her brain. 

However, one thing the athlete was grateful for, was that Ghostface must not have been paying attention to who he was stalking. With a harsh shove, she sent the Killer stumbling backwards, whilst she managed to pull free from the grip on her shoulder. Then it was her sprint burst, racing off into the darkness of the woods, her eyes trying to keep up with the direction she was going in to actually comprehend where it was she was needing to run to. Panic was not what she needed right now, but fear lingered within her even as she was certain she’d made a good distance between her and her pursuer. This Killer, she’d not had many trials with him, and stories had been told about him, stories that made Meg sick to her stomach when she realised a man like this existed before in the real world. A hunter with no remorse, no ‘tragic past’, nothing to rationalise his irrational satiation for murder.

Pausing to take a breath was one of the infuriating choices the ginger could have made, but she tortured herself with said choice nevertheless. What she got in reward was a rough shove to her back, sending her awkwardly trying to keep upright just before she tripped over. Ghostface was far too fast and far too fucking sneaky for Meg’s liking, resembling some twisted cretin that’d hide until it was certain of the kill. Her body turned around, her arms scraping at the dirt for purchase as she sat up and desperately kicked her legs to create as much distance between her and this supposed cretin. It was pointless, though, the black shroud looming closer as it bent over her terrified form, a shimmer of light from the now-present moon bringing the ginger’s attention straight to the knife in his gloved hand. 

In a terribly quick, terribly graceful and a simply terrible course of action, the hooded figure had pushed Meg down against the dirt, his own deranged form moving to straddle her shaking body with every devious intention clearly on his mind. That black, gloved hand glided the knife past her jugular, and down along her flush neck towards her chest. “Meg Thomas?” His cold, cheery voice drawled through the mask. “‘Course it was you,” that deep, cocky voice chuckled afterwards, sitting up straight as he regarded the fearful look in Meg’s eyes.

“Yeahh~” he dragged out the word, highlighting how calm yet excited he was before continuing, “Meg Thomas and her funny little sprint,” Ghostface lifted his empty hand and moved it to stroke along the side of said ginger’s brow, ignoring the way she scowled and turned her head away. “I wonder,” he started, voice shrill but deep, so loud yet so soft, his head leaning down, mask mere inches away from face, “did you actually look where you were running?” The serial killer’s head leant up in one swift motion, a dark laugh, resembling a psychotic cackle, followed before he started talking once again. “Or did you just hope that you’d make it home,” another pause, Meg was growing increasingly more angry, her own frustration out weighing her fear, “Somehow,”.

“You know what happens next, sweetheart?” Those words lurked too close to Meg’s fears, her hand pulling to a fist and swinging at the masked attacker, screaming with rage as she did so. It made no connection. Her wrist was caught in his hand, and she could practically hear the cocky grin he was wearing, his other hand pushing the knife’s blade up to her throat. “Alive or dead?” The grip on her wrist released, knowing she’d keep them to herself to prevent the knife pressing deep into her neck. “Well it’s all really the same for me,” Ghostface’s hand, the hand he now had free once more, mapped its way to brush over her chest, his masked face tilting as he looked back into her disbelieving eyes. “Well, dead means you won't cry as much, and tears do tend to bore me after a little while,” Was this really happening to her? Was Meg truly to die here, and to have her body defiled by this sick, twisted, maniac? “Yeah, I think I’ll prefer dead,” And with that, the knife raised, the blade suddenly shooting down, aiming right for her heart. Her eyes closed, preparing for the trauma to ensue.

But it never did.

Meg opened her eyes to see the blade inches away from puncturing her chest, but something smooth, glossy and black was wrapped around the wrist holding it. She could see Ghostface’s fury, his strength failing him before he could think to drop the knife and take hold of it with his other hand. Now able to swing said knife down once more, he went for it. But this time, Meg let her eyes stay open, watching in relief and glee when his other hand got a similar, black being wrapped around it. Said being must have squeezed his wrist hard, because soon his trusted weapon fell limply from his palm and settled to the side of Meg on the dirt ground.

The ginger finally realised she was able to wriggle free from under the sadistic killer, creating a fair distance to be able to watch what happened next, her own curiosity defying the smarter decision to run. Risky choices tend to end up negative, but this seemed to be going well to start, her eyes watching in her own sadistic pleasure as the entity revealed itself. Black, sharp claws extended through the earth surrounding Ghostface, their shape easily recognisable as the shape it would take to, in return, take someone’s life. However, death was not happening here and something very unrecognisable to Meg followed the distinct spikes in earnest. They resembled tendrils, nothing sharp, like she was used to seeing; they were smooth, glossy, and looked more curious than she did.

Those same tendrils began slithering along the entity’s extended limbs, soon finding independence and exploring the masked killer’s form. She watched one curve past the one restraining his wrist, licking its way around his arm, entangling itself in the material of the cloak. It brought indescribable glee to Meg as she saw the genuine fear mixed with anger as she’d faced but this time it was Ghostface feeling such things.

The first words she heard leave his mouth from then on was him forcing out through grit teeth, ‘what the fuck’ whilst he desperately pulled at the restraining, black tendrils. Soon, he had lurched to his legs, standing up in an attempt to pull free, his wrists desperately pulling at the entity’s grip. “Fuck’n,” he growled out, muffle by the mask, “let go, what the fuck,” Eventually he decided it was enough and made to yank his arm free, yet as his foot moved to brace himself, he found himself falling forward. One of the tentacle-esque beings had wrapped around his ankle, pulling his leg back and forcing it in the air.

It was hard to disagree with Meg’s slight snort of laughter, finding understandable amusement as she watched the Killer fail at hopping to the pace of the slick tendrils raising his form. As more tentacles slithered out from their hidden depths, the beings finally decided to hoist their prey as though lifting a child. Seeing his panicked thrashing, hearing his desperate yells, watching how desperate he seemed: it was all intoxicating to the ginger, her eyes unmoving from the serial killer’s demise. As this shrouded body was raised in an effortless manner, the tendrils lifting his ass ever higher, Meg watched as the cloak humorously scrunched up at his lower thighs, how the hood slipped over his head, and how a small card slipped from said cloak.

A new feeling shuddered through her veins, was this his identity, the very human existence that fitted this man, it couldn’t be? But it seemed it was, Meg couldn’t doubt that panicked yelp that echoed through the mask, nor could she be imagining the way the poor man strained and fought to reach the petty piece of plastic. Yet, he couldn’t reach it, and instead, it was Meg’s testing hand that hesitantly followed her body to whip out and grab the useful information before hastily pulling back and ensuring she was a safe distance away. Now it was her turn to speak, and that bastard would hear her words, a mimic of his own cruelty.

“Danny Johnson, eh?” A scoff followed, unintended, but it caused the reaction she wanted, a deeper set of frustration and panic within this weak prey before her. It was obvious in the way he cursed, growing in it’s shrill, fearful, cracked voice as the black limbs curled across his body and mapped him out. “You slut, I’ll fucki-” his attempt at finishing the curse was interrupted by a strangled choke as one of the previously mentioned tentacle-esque creatures tightened around his neck, a strength Meg could only recognise as the being that she’d struggled with countless times on a hook within trials. “What was that?” her amused voice followed, “sweetheart,” It must have been the way she drawled the word that caused a strangled yell from the lifted Killer.

Hearing gargled attempts at forcing in air which was followed by empty, desperate breaths, the ginger could easily surmise that Ghostface’s neck had been freed, but the tendril which had relented had moved beneath the Killer’s neck to tease at the entrance to his mask. In one swift motion, Danny’s heated body was tilted upwards, the cloak only slightly following, his face a perfect angle to stare Meg in the eyes. Meg, herself, pocketed the proof of the serial killer’s identity before looking back at the masked face of said Killer, waiting for what came next.

The teasing, glossy snake gave up on its teasing, deciding to finally slip beneath the mask, pushing it up as it did so, revealing the slightest bit of the skin of his chin. Curious and filled with a new sense of superiority and safety, Meg carefully stood, leaning her torso forward in a testing manner before following it with a cautious step. The suspended ex-journalist thrashed desperately, enraged at finding his tantrum a worthless waste of energy. Fingers pulled at the pale chin of his mask, taking a soft grip before violently pulling it from his head, the owner of the fingers taking a disbelieving step back, completely baffled at how gorgeous this situation was.

“I thought you’d be ugly,” It surprised her when she let her mouth wander, her words true but unintended to be public. Danny could sense this, but he was too caught up in his own hatred to comment on it, the fear and realisation of his revealed identity completely heartbreaking to him.”Do you feel scared, Danny?” Meg asked, a viciousness in her voice she never knew she could even provide, “like you’re trapped in a situation you simply can’t run from,” It was even more exhilarating to see the pathetic gloved hand reach out and attempt to grab her neck, a red flush high on his neck suggesting a genuine emotion akin to someone of great desperation and dread.

What was interesting was the way the dark, glimmering entity let his limbs glide swiftly across his body, contorting him into a rather painful and amusing position. What they did next was even more enlightening to Meg, her eyes entranced by the languid motions of said entity turning Danny’s body like an unwilling ragdoll. The ginger didn’t even realise her mouth was agape until she became lucid and started to walk along to the motions of the entity, a good few feet away but now able to see the grit teeth, the furrowed brows and the shine of sweat all signalling Danny’s humanity.

It was pointless, they both knew that, but Meg found great, sadistic pleasure in watching the useless struggling of this helpless prey. “Helpless little thing; I wonder,” She began, a pause as she acted out just like how this killer did, dropping what she said for another thought, “I bet it’ll leave you alive,” Another dreadful pause, eyes watching glazed eyes watching black limbs finish mapping the unwilling body, “I hope it leaves you alive,” In any other situation, it would seem a good thing to wish for someone, but Danny knew this was not positive, especially when he felt the tendrils grow too comfortable toying along his form.

“I didn’t expect you to be a brunet, and I didn’t know serial killers could blush,” Once more she teased, bringing light to the information of his appearance and his notable embarrassment. But, alas, Danny was much more concentrated on the larger limb of the entity, curving it’s sharp body between his tense legs. It was then that Meg saw true terror on the brunet’s features, his body going slack against his supposed god’s grasp whilst he watched the spiked claw stroke forward, hooking beneath the cloak he wore. Meg circled to watch as this bladed, dark creature of pure mischief slipped languidly into the bound Killer’s clothing, a sharp yank of it’s joints quickly tearing said protecting material from his form.

Both human’s, albeit one with immense and unnatural strength, but humans nevertheless, watched in absolute shock as the clothing draped down both the entity’s snaking body and Danny’s shivering frame. Its cut was with pure precision and Meg felt as though she was understanding this cruel entity much more as it passively moved back to idle with the other familiar, spiked limbs. The unfamiliar limbs, however, were anything but idle, sliding up the skin of Danny’s exposed stomach and causing intoxicating shivers all along his body. What amused the athlete the most was how the cut in his clothing didn’t go all the way, the upper cloak draping down against the floor, most of it hanging from his spread arms and the hood hanging lifeless beneath his head.

One of the tentacles had coiled its way a little too close to the Killer’s face, his cheeks burning red as he twisted his face to the side with a disgusted expression. That action had accidentally led to him looking right back at Meg and her smug grin at his torture. “I guess the entity understands karma,” Another time, she’d spoken without a filter, without thinking, but it was the truth; even when the quivering brunet refused to believe it. Looking at his face, Meg grew rather confused when she saw him jerk, cringe and follow it up with an unintended yet intimate whimper; It was something new for the both of them, only one was enjoying it far more than the other.

Finding the source of his little outburst, she looked along his frame and witnessed a pressing, noir tendril curling up his thigh, much too high up for the serial killer’s liking. It was interesting to see how the being tightened and loosened in reaction to the squirming of its lively prey. The previously mentioned tendril decided to defy Danny’s wishes, firmly dragging itself between his legs, rubbing the sensitive part where his thigh met crotch before pushing further up and teasing at the belt looped around his jeans.

Meg would never consider herself too strange in response to seeing such things, but she couldn’t deny the sense of great pleasure as she heard the high pitched yelp and then desperate words followed by pathetic begging. “No, no, no,” he repeated like a mantra, squirming his hips to try and shake the probing limb away from him. Yet, it was all for naught, said limb worming its way to the part where the belt looped together, being followed by another to perform a wonderful act of intelligence: pushing the leather attempt of protection undone.

“What’s wrong there, sweetie,” the athlete’s voice was sadistic, loving the torture she was watching, savouring the panicked noises falling from the brunet’s lips as the tendrils pressed beneath his belt, beneath his waistband, and, judging by the undignified scream of pure disbelief, beneath his underwear. She watched as his knees bent and kicked, how his body thrashed and cringed, how his eyes watered at how it was he who was being defiled this time around.

~*~

What was wrong? What was fucking wrong? Perhaps it was that his plan went to utter shit, or perhaps it was the dissatisfaction of not being able to strangle the life out of the cocky athlete, or maybe, just maybe, it was the smooth, black entity pushing itself into his trousers.

It was never supposed to go like this, he just wanted a bit of fresh air, a taste of freedom, a way to quench his thirst for blood. How was he to possibly know that the entity would react like this? A deity believing in karma? A deity that thrived off of the murder and trauma of the Survivors, yet it can’t stand when it happens outside of a trial, it made it seem the Killers were equally as trapped as said Survivors. Either way, this endlessly limbed god was taking it too far, this was terrifying, cruel and a disgusting treatment of his body.

A horrified cry followed his pitiful attempt at saying ‘no’ once again when the intruding tentacle twisted and rubbed against him, the action forcing Danny to curl in on himself as best he could. Perhaps closing his eyes would be a good idea, it’d stop his want to burst into tears and have to look at that calm, sadistic and cruel grin on Meg’s features. Even worse, he could hear and feel the zip to his fly being peeled undone, his waistline feeling horribly slack and terribly easy to fall down. Which is exactly what happened, except it didn’t necessarily fall down as much as it was forced down by the interested tendrils enjoying the sensation of his skin.

“Cat got your tongue?” She sweetly spoke, the noise flaring hatred within him, but the embarrassment was slowly creeping up on him, too. Not able to speak, and definitely not pathetic enough to ask for help, Ghostie simply writhed, and kicked his legs as best he could, hissing when he could feel his jeans being pulled down past his thighs. Then it was down to his knees, and then past his shins and now he was screaming with rage as his lost clothing got tangled in his boots. It was his underwear next, but the entity was nowhere near as kind, simply letting thicker tendrils push through one entrance in his left leg, another violating his right, and one shoving through his back and along his tail bone.

It was all too much for his underwear, the size and pull of each glossy snake pulling at the material, stretching it until it simply tore into bits and fell from him. Finally letting his curiosity take care of his wild, racing mind, he looked to the ginger and saw her still watching, taking in the violation to his body. Soon she noticed him looking, her thoughtful expression turning evil, “looking away wont stop it, you know,” His eyes closed as he heard that, brows furrowed as he clenched his eyelids and grit his teeth, resisting a pitiful whimper as one tentacle, the one from behind, curved through and between his legs, rubbing against the underside of his thankfully flaccid cock. Shaking his head, Danny tried to forget about the moment, but as he failed at holding back another sob whilst a tendril tightened around his length, Meg continued to run her mouth, “I bet you can feel it, closing your eyes and pretending it isn’t feeling you up,”

Breathing through his clenched teeth, a frustrated ‘no’ followed, not really aimed at anyone, just highlighting exactly how he felt, utterly negative. “‘No’? What? So, you can’t feel it testing your cock like you’re some slut for sale?” The flush on his cheeks burned brighter, cringing at how he felt another limb snaking its way along his leg, yet this one seemed to be dragging a wet trail behind it. “Lying isn’t a smart choice, but I guess it’s too late now,” What on earth was she on about? Letting his eyelids peak open, the brunet caught a terrifying glimpse of what was licking up his leg, an oddly shaped, scarily thick, worryingly focused tentacle-esque being slithering in a bee-line towards his crotch.

He felt dirty, like he needed to scrub at his skin for hours to get whatever intoxicating liquid it was that was leaking from this new limb as it coiled along his thigh and pressed it’s tongue-like tip to the underside of his cock. The one that was there previously had retreated and turned to wrapping around his hips, almost preparing for an outburst of fearful writhing. Testing the waters, he felt this violating entity rub along his length, his shaky breathing stuttering out a sob as he stared in horror at how he was essentially molested. What he was too busy to witness was another, similar tendril lurking its way up from a different spike of the entity’s surrounding claws, one that happened to be looming behind his head.

Danny soon found out, however, his head turning to look at Meg’s amused and excited expression, clearly knowing something the brunet did not. Opening his mouth to yell at her, or perhaps at the entity, or simply for his own sanity, he was cut short by a long, wet, noir tendril forced between his teeth. Biting down proved useless, only enticing the violating cretin to writhe within his mouth and push deeper in, pushing its own seed in as well. Not wanting to die with an imitation of a cock down his throat, Danny settled his terrified breathing, pulling in air through his nose as he got over his constant gagging from the teasing of his reflex.

“How’s it taste?” Once again, the serial killer wanted to scream, in fact, he did try, but it was ultimately pointless from how all it made was a gargled moan reverberating out along the abyss of black which was forced within his jaw. The strength and thickness alone had forced a wetness from the corner of his eyes, not enough to be considered tears, but definitely a warning that he was nearing his breaking point.

Enter the breaking point.

The wet mess between his legs had brought his attention back when he felt a much too interested, blunt entity push in through his lower hole. It was small, smaller than what the larger one was, Meg could see that, but Danny was too engrossed in how terrible he felt; the dark tentacle squirming within him dragging a mantra of sobbing through the thickness of the living gag in his mouth. Even though he was never planning to lose his anal virginity, it was horrible to believe he was losing it to a mess of limbs senselessly raping him for punishment for him doing his goddamn job. A giggle from the athlete mere feet away from him had the Killer spiralling into pure desperation and humiliation, thrashing wildly as best he could before the entity retaliated and spread his legs as far as it could manage before pressing an equally sized tendril within him alongside the other.

When the one in his mouth relented from being so deep, Danny believed it was leaving, but it had only pulled back far enough to let him physically feel the juices of his so-called god drizzling from it and into his mouth. The taste was arguably acceptable, but the brunet refused to allow any semblance of this experience to be considered acceptable, so he spluttered and bit and gagged whilst he was force fed whatever substance this organic lube could possibly be.

As he felt his throat become violated, he began to feel the lively beings within his ass begin to curve and twist in search of something that would spell Danny’s demise. They found it. Feeling the sensation of two magnificent tentacles fondling his prostate from within and the wet entity pulling his cock, he was quickly growing unwillingly hard. Just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, perhaps the final new addition to the infamous tentacles emerged from its coiling across the brunet’s body to settle near the tip of his erection. Said new being pushed hard against his head, the angle of which making it hidden from Danny’s eyes which added to the shock he experienced when he felt the warm yet cold embrace of the entity engulfing his cock.

A sudden surge of liquid forced down his throat had the Ghostface killer gagging and spluttering out, shuddering at how alluring it tasted. He could feel himself throb inside of the tentacle warming him, whilst the tendrils within him swirled and took turns at teasing him. Then it somehow got worse, or maybe better, depending on who you might be. Meg, for one, found a great sense of pleasure in hearing the startled, broken squeak erupt through his mouth as she watched the entity begin to almost suck at his cock, dragging helpless yelps and moans from his violently shaking body. 

The air wasn’t warm, nor too cold, but Danny made it seem like a sauna with how terribly red his cheeks were and how sweat was forming across his squirming frame. One tentacle that had wrapped itself around Danny’s waist and hips to restrain him decided to loosen up and tease his stomach, rubbing his sensitive abdomen and coiling as the bound, lifted Killer squirmed and resisted a squeak of pleasure mixed with amusement. Turns out he was ticklish too, Meg was really starting to learn a bit too much about Danny.

His own squirming led to the sudden press of the previously light touches against his prostate, and mixed with the relentless sucking, the poor serial killer curled in on himself, a deranged concoction of a moan mixed with a scream of ecstasy and swirling into a noise resembling a fit of giggles erupted as best it could through the tentacle gag. His noises kept going, his body twisting as he tried to escape the entity still wetly pulling at his cock, sucking his orgasm dry. It still didn’t stop, milking him to the point where finally the wetness in his eyes teased at falling, his teeth carelessly biting down on the timid tendril in his mouth to alleviate the tremendous feeling within his body.

“Cumming already?” that sickly sweet voice asked, the humiliation too terrible to bear, “It hasn’t even gotten to the good part,” that voice was downright terrifying, sending the Killer into a violent fit of squirming as he felt the two limbs within him twist and part, allowing the previous, wet and much larger being to press deeply against his entrance. Another surge of hot juice was forced down his throat, making it seem much more clearer to Danny that it was entirely for his labido to be constantly wound back up again: an endless, torturous cycle.

But after he was force fed the intoxicating drink, the tendril timidly pulled from his jaw, giving Danny time to breathe and take a momentary break after being filled in more ways than one. But the relief was pointless when he felt the less timid tentacle push against his prepared entrance, the tears in his eyes spilling as he sobbed out a breathless scream in treachery. “Help me,” he forced out, panting, eyes wide and pretty trails signifying his crying along his cheeks, “Make it stop,” he followed, his chest heaving from the pressure and pain of having to beg, “please,” finishing it off with such a word he’d never thought he’d ever say in his life was painful to the Killer, another wretched cry following as the entity began to press inside of him.

Another ‘no’ screamed out, interrupting what Meg had planned to respond with, the tendril slipping deep within him as the smaller ones carefully pulled out. Wet was the first word that came to mind when it first settled in him, not filling him up quite as much as the one in his throat did, but it was enough to make his insides twist in a fearful way. “Would you have stopped if it were me and you?” It sounded like a genuine question, and Danny could only provide his own defensive answer, “I’d never,” he gave an undignified yelp as he lurched forward from the force of the being impersonating a cock, “do something as sick as,” he paused, breathing, finding a word as he kicked his legs out in a spasm of pleasure, “as,” another pause, another screamed moan followed by a shaky noise as the tentacle on his stomach licked over his abdomen once more, “as this,” He exemplified his voice at the end, making his horror clear to the ginger watching him.

“Danny,” She tutted, sounding as though she were scolding a child, dragging out the ending of his name in a cheeky yet disciplinary way. “I thought we agreed,” She began, and Danny felt her cold eyes watching his quivering body as he yelped out another moan, his body curling up as best it could once more, very clearly on the verge, “You’re not allowed to lie,” and with that, with a pleasurable yet horrifying rub against his prostate from the thick, dark appendage within him, the brunet came for a second time, only he had nothing to show for it. All he had was a series of whines, screams, moans and broken sobs as he was milked dry for a second time, his body contorting in every manner as he yelled and cried for it to stop.

“I wonder,” Danny got a strange sense of deja vu hearing that word, his weak crying forcing him to attempt to wipe away said tears on his ruined cloak as he hopelessly listened. “How many times do you think it’ll,” Meg hummed, finding a suitable word, “milk you dry?” His tears had slowed down, but as he tried to respond, his mouth opening, the previous tentacle slipped back between his lips, pushing past his teeth and gliding over his tongue. It was repeating what happened before, forcing him to drink himself into another hard-on, into more torture. “How long will we be here, d’you think?” He couldn’t even respond now, but it made no difference, she wanted him to hear her, come to terms that this was happening to him.

“How long ‘til you get fucked raw, turned into something small and pathetic,” ‘Sticks and stones’ was what Danny lived by, used to insults and rudeness, but as he swallowed down the substance the entity provided, he felt like he needed to shake his head, muffling a pitiful ‘no’ as best he could. “‘No’? Lying again, aren’t you,” Another sob followed as the sucking continued and the teasing grew in its intensity, “look at you, crying, begging, and slowly giving into your god,” It was undeniably true, he’d just passively swallowed the aforementioned drink down, not trying to splutter it out, he’d begged not too long back for Meg, of all people, to end the torture and the tears were impossible to not notice.

Despite this, Danny forced out a gargled ‘no’ once again, getting treated to another tentacle slipping in alongside the first one to tease against his prostate and humiliate him further. All the brunet could do was writhe in fear, desperate to be dropped onto solid ground, but all he was experiencing was the conflicting emotions surrounding the arousing feeling of his cock being stimulated once more. He was close again, in pain, sensitive and emotionally broken. With a pained cry, he choked on the wet appendage gagging him as he whimpered out in desperate screams, knowing he was on his third orgasm.

As the limb from within his mouth carefully slithered away once more, Danny struggled to whimper out ‘no more’, a pathetic and tragic noise to hear, of course, but Meg was finding difficulty in feeling sorry. “Please,” with that plea, his voice cracked in the middle, ending with a feeble sob and being followed with a loud, painful scream as the sucking never ceased, not even for a break, and when he tried to beg again, tears threatening to spill once more, the tendril found its way back into his mouth. For another time, he was forced to drink the horrendous juice that spelt tragedy, traumatised to feel himself growing hard once again inside of the entity’s endlessly milking tentacle.

Dancing inside of him, the thicker appendage found great joy in rubbing against his prostate without any breaking, letting the smaller tendril press as well to simply force his sensitive spot into a horrendous form of constant stimulation. Feeling it dare to press deeper had him screaming once more, his crying beginning once again as he realised how terrible he must look. His insides swirling and getting pounded into oblivion, the Ghostfaced killer thought nothing could possibly get worse than this.

However, his eyes caught a glimpse of the mostly stationary ginger moving towards something she must have seen below him. Below him was correct: lodged in the pocket of his shredded cloak still half attached to him, yet the bitch still remembered he had it. His personal camera, used to take photos of each Survivor he’d stabbed to death with his mori each trial, she couldn’t possibly have seen it. But he felt her presence from behind him, a tug of his cloak signalling she was much closer than he’d anticipated, somehow completely unafraid of the entity torturing him at that very moment.

Even though both Meg and Danny knew it was pointless, the brunet still thrashed violently, only lasting the span of a second or so before realising he’d pushed himself right against the teasing appendages within himself. So as Meg stood, with his most treasured possession in her hands, something she’d now use against him, Danny came. For the fourth time. Yet this time round, it was digitised, captured in something that would make it timeless, a painful reminder that this actually happened to him. Danny couldn’t possibly imagine how he looked, curling up with two tentacles lodged deep within him, far enough that it seemed they were mixing with his organs; a large, wet appendage forced down his throat, drool and whatever unknown liquid it was dripping down past his chin and onto his chest which was, for the most part, glazed over yet half covered with the remnants of his cloak; a relentless tendril wrapped around his cock, fitting it perfectly and milking him until he was dry; and how could he forget, the tear stains smothering his cheeks with reddened eyes begging for an ending to this punishment.

“Say cheese,” the grin on Meg’s face was terrible to see from the brunet’s perspective, cruelty suggesting she’d share this picture with every other Survivor. It was if the appendage lodged down his throat heard what she’d said, interested to hear a response, and so it pulled out, waiting. “Please,” It was all he could manage, a broken voice for a broken man, a man supposed to be a well feared serial killer, someone who brought fear to his victims. “Please?” Meg bent her head down, furrowed her brows and dramatically brought her finger to her chin, acting it out all for Danny, “Please,” she dragged out the word as if thinking how to follow it, “share the photo with all your friends?” She couldn’t help a small laugh, cut short as she continued, “Oh, I think I just might, Danny,”

The ginger raised the camera once again, grinning in a lustful joy as Danny squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away, sobbing to himself as he felt his chest heave and his body shake in rhythm to his weak, little cries. He’d heard the snap, he knew she’d taken a picture, it hurt more than anything, and he didn’t even try to resist when the reserved tendril slipped back into his mouth. It pushed down his throat and twisted so the serial killer’s head was relatively straight, his squirming beginning once again as he felt his cock grow hard in a matter of seconds, the relentless sucking becoming terribly difficult to receive whilst he keeled over and moaned at how his insides were massaged and made to feel good. It was becoming easier for Danny to simply accept when it felt good, when it tasted good, when his insides would feel just right because it reminded him of something better than when he was forced to a ruined orgasm, how he would struggle breathing through the tentacle gagging him and how he had to contend with the truth that this was the most humiliating thing he’d ever encounter.

A short, gasped, pathetic cry which was followed by a scream signalled his fifth orgasm, the endless milking never ceasing as it forced another wave of pain across Danny’s shaking body. At this point, he was wondering if he was actually even producing cum, and if he was, what the fuck was the entity going to do with it anyway. Either way, he screamed, cried and chewed down on the smooth tendril shoved between his teeth. By now, he was a mess, hardly able to deal with each stimulation, but it still didn’t end.

Once again, a surge of juice was forced into him, yet this was without a break. It caught the Killer completely off guard and had him spluttering and dribbling half of the load over his chin. So, unfortunately enough, the tentacle force fed him more, patiently waiting for his cock to burst to life before fucking him senseless. Senseless they managed, ignoring the whore worthy moans falling from his weak throat, the way his body hung limp and simply shook with each thrust the appendages provided him with. Meg could see the poor man was defeated, his eyes not having to scrunch up to remain closed anymore.

A moment later, another snap of the camera, another scream followed by recognisable whimpers, cries and muffled pleas and Danny was hitting his sixth orgasm, and it felt as though the entity wasn’t even done, the sucking never ending, the teasing and thrusting unwavering in their pace. The same could not be said for the Ghostfaced killer, himself. As desperately as he wanted to stay awake to avoid the violation of his unconscious body, he’d lost the battle.

It was haunting, hearing that tragic sob echo from his used throat as the tentacle pulled out to give him a moment. Meg adored it, loved the way she saw the devastation on Danny’s features, how he was unable to provide much noise to the pitiful whimpers from how sore his voice was. Then, as his cock was milked dry, and the tentacles still continued their ministrations, the thick, glossy tendril forced its way through the unwilling mouth, and began unloading more liquid into the ragdoll-esque body.

With his eyes closing, the brunet couldn’t help the need to finally fall unconscious, leaving the tragedy of his predicament behind and escaping the only way he could think how. Another noise of the camera taking a devastating photo, and Danny was gone, away in his dreams, for better or for worse.

**Author's Note:**

> I need to stop writing rape..  
> But maybe another day <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed yourself xoxoxo


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